The Hawke and The Eagle
by StumblesUponThis
Summary: Warning: M/M, Descriptions of violence. "A hawk, determined, whose wings are broken yet hops, forever chained to the ground, longing for the sky; An eagle, young, ignorant, proud and mighty, crashes to the ground, only to fly back, desperate and living."
1. Chapter 1 : The Hawk

Chapter 0 – Prologue, The Hawk

(French translations are shown below after the story.)

_"Yet each man kills the thing he loves  
>By each let this be heard<br>Some do it with a bitter look  
>Some with a flattering word<br>The coward does it with a kiss  
>The brave man with a sword"<br>— Oscar Wilde_

* * *

><p>France, 1467,<p>

Aged 8,

"_Vite, vite, __nous devons nous dépêcher __fils.__" _A woman, in her mid-30s, tugged an impatient hand at a scrawny, knobby kneed boy, who had stumbled and scraped his knees raw so many times, he couldn't feel anything at all, the sharp winter cold numbing the scratches.

He was scared.

" _Où allons-nous maman?"_ he asked, only to earn a smarting rap on his knees and another forceful tug. He tried his hardest not to cry at the pain, he wouldn't, wouldn't make his mother look at him with a heartbroken face, wouldn't make his mother apologize when he had done wrong, wouldn't because he knew it hurt her as much as it did to him. He wasn't like his father, who gambled and drank and beat his mother. He'll be good; he'd be silent, for her.

He was a good son. He knows she loves him.

She tugged and tugged, and he followed, silent. Their footsteps echoed in the cold stone as they reached in what seemed like, a chapel, he's seen one before, seen the priest say his prayers with a funny looking hat, the children he envied playing during the warm air of spring, sometimes flowers being sprinkled whenever special festivities came.

"_Maintenant, être bon et rester ici." _She said sternly as she left him along the bottom of the stairs, marching stiffly as she knocked on the doors of the chapel. He nodded and stood quietly, not complaining nor whining how uncomfortably his tight, worn leather shoes were, how his flimsy, thin shirt couldn't keep out the biting cold of the howling December wind, how his skin blistered and aches with each passing second.

"_Ferdinand." _

He looked up, he saw the priest, smiling at him, arms gesturing to welcome him inside the chapel. His stomach grew cold. Where was his mother? And so he asked, not wanting to seem weak or scared.

The priest's smile wasn't pleasant.

"_Je peux voir pourquoi elle négocié un prix aussi élevé, vous êtes tout à fait un spectacle à voir,"_ he waved his hand vaguely and Ferdinand was struggling to break free, snarling and kicking as his captors, two brutish looking thugs who stank of stale sweat and alcohol hauled him up the stairway, pinning him in front of the priest, kneeling. The priest clucked his tongue, and ran a wrinkled hand, mockingly gentle, across his brow. "_Une telle tragédie de voir comment la cupidité prend sur nous tous, ne vous inquiétez pas enfant, je prendrai soin de vous, je pourrais même vous donner tout ce que vous voulez, _" he said softly, cruel fingers digging into the pale white skin, red bruises blossoming across white as he tilted up the boy's chin harshly, forcing Ferdinand to look him in the eye. _"Si vous êtes un bon garçon, ce qui est."_

"_Mensonges… Tu mens, elle serait, elle ne ferait jamais ça_!..." He hissed, struggling some more, until the pressure on his shoulder deemed too much, he cried out in pain. He spotted his mother walking away quickly, pale and ashen looking, clutching a coin purse in her hands as she pointedly looked away from him. _"Suis-je?"_ The priest asked.

"_Maman?"_ he whispered, and she walked even quicker now, wind billowing across her feet; _"Maman!"_ he screamed, she hesitated and looked back. He could see her now, dark red curls that framed her heart shaped face, her pink lips quivering as she looked at him, liquid amber eyes sad and apologetic.

She mouthed, he saw, and crumbled to the ground, sobbing as the thugs dragged him into the now dark chapel.

The priest was chuckling and petting his hair all the way, words that his mother mouthed him echoing in his mind.

_Je t'aime. Je suis désolé, fils._

* * *

><p>France, 1473,<p>

Aged 14,

The whip cracked harshly, and Ferdinand bit his lip, which was already split and bloodied, courtesy of a recent buyer who tried to step too far for Ferdinand's comfort, which was saying alot. Really. The bastard tried to put his _entire hand_ in him, only earning a good bite to his fingers and a set badly bruised balls, which he was lucky for them still being attached to his body.

How many thugs had been sent to take care of him already? Each year for his birthday, the priest thought it would be funny, giving Ferdinand 'gifts', that seemed to be large, feather-brained human bodies who only knew how to hit and rut, being specifically ordered by Father Augustus that he should be handled with 'most care'. So, this makes this thug, Thug #14. This one even had tattoos. Which were rather crude and tasteless.

Thug #14 seemed pretty frustrated at his lack of noise, for he was now whipping harder and harder, and Ferdinand gritted his harder, willing himself not to scream against the pain, he was aware of his eyes stinging, from the blood, tears and sweat. Then he wondered, for how long was this going to go on? Its not as if Father Auguste was going to kill him, no, of course not, he wouldn't want to scar or lose his pretty pet, not when he hasn't been tamed.

_"C'est assez. Laissez-nous."_ And the cavalry arrives, he mused darkly as thug #10 sputtered as he scrambled out, glaring at Ferdinand when the boy gave him a smug grin, which was quickly concealed as Father Augustus turned to face him, wrinkled face even more wrinkled and papery as he bent down, eyes hard and glinting as he pressed the bloodied lip. Ferdinand bit back the instinct to flinch, memories of his first year flashing back constantly. The cold touches, the burning, the shame.

_"Si vous n'avez pas été si têtu, tu ne doit pas subir cela, enfant. Vous avez besoin d'être obéissants, ne vous le savez," _the priest's voice lowered dangerously, pale fingers pressing even harder against the wound, blood staining white, like the sheets from the first time- _"la façon dont il me fait mal de voir que vous désobéir? Pour souffrir? Je vous offre un abri, de plaisir, je ne demande rien de plus simple, mais les services, mais vous, un enfant ignorant qui ne sait pas! Qui est trop têtu pour le rendement!" _He sighed, and traced a pattern across Ferdinand's face with the blood and across his lips, licking lewdly as he pressed dry lips towards his bloody ones, who was still stiff and silent, pushing down the memories that threaten to resurface.

_/ "S'il vous plaît! Arrêtez... Ça fait mal... Pas plus... S'il vous plaît..."_

_It hurt, it hurt so much. He felt too hot, too feverish, too much all at once. He whimpered and thrashed, but the hands that held him down were strong, he couldn't fight them off._

_Warm liquid trickling down his thighs, he was broken. But the priest, the priest was doing something, doing something to him, he didn't want to, didn't want to feel this way, it hurt yet it felt odd at the same time. It was disgusting._

_"Belle, apprendre à cet enfant," the priest's breath was sickeningly sweet and coppery, blood, wine, and the flowers he wreathed with the children in the chapel, the children he never broke, the children he smiled kindly at and played with. Roses, lilies, it was disgusting. Ferdinand turned his face away, silently sobbing as the priest continued, "Vous, sont à moi; votre corps, votre âme, votre vie," he thrusted hard, and the boy arched, mouth gasping and desperately clawing the sheets, ithurtithurtithurtithurt- "Rappelez-vous ceci."_

_He cleaned the bedsheets furiously, ignoring the hushed conversations among the other fathers, the sisters who looked at him with pitying yet disgusted eyes._

_The red burns. He decides its his least favourite color that day./_

His tongue tasted like blood too. His, maybe.

"I, am owned, by no one." He hissed through clenched teeth, laughing softly and maniacally as Father Augustus' eyes widened comically at the language. Just because he was a whore, didn't mean he wasn't bright or sneaky enough to run off to the library in the chapels, or run off to learn afew tricks of stealing and performing cheap magic tricks to earn money. He had time.

_"Où avez-vous appris cela?"_ the priest demanded, tugging harshly at his hair, but Ferdinand just smiled back, not caring even when Father Augustus slapped his face, hard. With the ring. It hurt, but of course, being a slave has its benefits, you get used to it. "Are you afraid? That I know too much? More than you Father?" he asked, softly now, the old man was trembling, eyes widening still, breath coming in gasps and wheezes.

_"Qu'avez-vous- Que faisiez-vous?" _he gasped out, falling to the ground and clutching his chest, breath coming in short staccatos, pupils dilating as froth started to come out from his mouth, dribbling across his chin. _"Démon... Démon! Quelqu'un, quelqu'un! Aidez-moi ... Il ... Je ne veux pas mourir!" _Ferdinand stood up shakily, grinning like a loon, and rubbed his wrists, sore from the rope burns and careless cuts he made when he untied himself, back flaring with pain as he straightened. He stared at Father Augustus and his pathetic attempts to reach the door, crawling, gasping futilely as he dragged himself across the floor.

"It wouldn't do you any good, you know," he exclaimed casually, picking up a cloth as he cleaned his wounds, they needed stitches, but it could wait, he could always drop by the doctor's to get fixed, the doctor was his friend after all. How else would he know how to procure a simple poison? All it takes is a little wax for protection, practices on countless poisons to build an immune system, and a belladonna plant poison to the finishing touches.

"A belladona plant only does so much as to cause madness, but why not add afew more to speed up the process? Snakes' poison, for example," he continued, choosing a finer suit from the cabinets the priest had, "The Death Adder, its poison takes... Ah, about, few minutes to spread through the body, causing paralysis, and respiratory shutdown..." He took a light coat, it was rather windy outside.

The wheezing stopped. He smiled widely, and hummed happily as he stepped over the corpse, taking time to memorise the man's horrified expression before he died.

* * *

><p>The boy left, coat flowing lightly against the wind as he walked slowly, relishing the breeze that carressed his hair soothingly, blowing away the acrid smoke and dust of the now charred remains of the chapel.<p>

_A hawk cried, and stretched its wings to fly, up and up into that endless blue sky._

_Freedom._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuccckkkk- (Ahem) Okay, not being very crude here but I really am very nervous about THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE OF COURSE THERE'S NO EZIO YET WE'LL BE GETTING TO THAT PART SOON... ANYWAY... (Turns off Caps) First off, I am SO SORRY to any FRENCH READERS OR WRITERS OUT THERE, I used the TRANSALATOR device to use the FRENCH WORDS, MY FRENCH IS ATROCIOUS, I KNOW, PLEASE, SPARE ME. (But of course, if any beta reader, who is interested in Assassin's Creed or someother weird reason, please, help? (I do not admit the unjustified whimper I emitted. No.) God, I' apologize. I promise and swear to study more on French and History from now on.<strong>

**This is my first ever fanfiction I've ever written, constructive critiscm and reviews are appreciated. I have no patience for ill written messages. I joke. Of course. I'm serious about the critiscm though, I am willing to be slayed and flayed alive.**

__**1) "Hurry, hurry, we must hurry son."**

**2) "Where are we going, mother?"**

**3) "Be good and stay here."**

**4) "I can see why she bargained such a high price for you, you are quite a sight."**

**5) "Such a tragedy to see how greed takes over all of us, do not worry child, I take care of you, I might even give you everything you want,"**

**6) "If you are good, of course."**

**7) "Lies!...You lie! She would- She would never do that!"**

**8) "Am I?"**

**9) "I love you. I'm sorry, son."**

**10) "That's enough, leave us."**

**11) "If you have not been so stubborn, you would not have suffer this, child. You need to be obedient, do you know, how it pains me to see that you disobey? to suffer? I offer safety, pleasure, I ask nothing more but simple services, but you, an ignorant child who does not know! Who is too stubborn to yield! "**

**12) "Please! Stop ... It hurts ... no more ... Please ..."**

**13) "Beautiful, remember this child," "You are mine, your body, your soul, your life,"**

**14) "Remember this."**

**15) "Where did you learn that?"**

**16) "What did- What did you do?"**

**17) "Demon! Demon! Save me! Help... I do not want to die..."  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2 : The Eagle

(Should I have added this previously? I do not own Assassin's Creed 2, its plot, nor any of the characters in them.)

Chapter 0 – Prologue –The Eagle

**(Italian translations below the end of this chapter.)**

**_I saw an eagle sweep to the sky—_**

**_The Godlike! – seeking his place on high,_**

**_With a strong, and wild, and rapid wing—_**

**_A dark, and yet a dazzling thing;_**

**_And his arching neck, his bristling crest,_**

**_And the dark plumes quivering upon his breast;_**

**_And his eye, bent up to each beam of light,_**

**_Like a bright sword flash'd with a sword in fight._**

**_I saw him rise o'er the forest trees;_**

**_I saw his pinion ride the breeze;_**

**_Beyond the clouds I watched him tower_**

**_On his path of pride – his flight of power._**

**_I watched him wheeling, stern and lone,_**

**_Where the keenest ray of the sun was thrown;_**

**_Soaring, circling – bathed in light:_**

**_Such was that desert eagle's flight._**

**_Suddenly, then, to my straining eye,_**

**_I saw the strong wing slack on high;_**

**_Falling, falling to earth once more;_**

**_The dark breast covered with foam and gore;_**

**_The dark eyes' glory dim with pain;_**

**_Sick to death with a sun-struck brain!_**

**_Reeling down from that height divine,_**

**_Eagle of heaven! such fall was thine!_**

**_Even so we see the sons of light,_**

**_Up to the day-beam steer their flight;_**

**_And the wing of genius cleaves the sky,_**

**_As the clouds rush on when the winds are high:_**

**_Then comes the hour of sudden dread—_**

**_Then is the blasting sunlight shed;_**

**_And the gifted fall in their agony,_**

**_Sund-struck eagle! to die like thee! – Eleanor Percy Lee_**

* * *

><p>Italy, Florence, 1467,<p>

Aged 8,

He ran, ran and ran. The feeling of the wind whipping against his face viciously, the adrenaline and excitement washing through his veins, the heady heat of the sun as it baked the rooftops, the soreness of scraped elbows and knees as he scrambled up and down.

_He felt like flying._

"_Mio dio_,_ fratellino_, if you do not slow down, you will _fall_." A taller figure caught up with him, gasping and catching his breath, cheeks flushed and freckled as his, a familiar face. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and stuck his tongue out, earning him a light rap to his head.

"You are just jealous I can do it better than _you_, Federico." The younger of the two stated, rubbing his head whilst scowling petulantly at Federico, the eldest son of the Auditore family. Federico grinned, showing a gap toothed smile, pointed at the highest roof he spotted, the church tower.

"I'll race you, if you can catch up." Ezio scowled even harder, making Federico laugh and jump away when he tried to tackle him on the ground. "_Mangia le tue parole, è grande truffatore grasso_! You always cheat!" He exclaimed, but his brother merely shrugged and took off, not even bothering to count until 3, the weasel!

"_Baro_," he muttered, but grinned nonetheless as he ran as well, the feeling of excitement banishing the previous childish anger he felt before.

But the only thing he didn't count on, as he laughed and jumped along his brother few minutes later, was when he slipped and fell, mouth gaping a horrified 'O' as he missed a foothold across the church walls. And for the first time in his life, Ezio fell from the sky, flailing, desperately trying to grab on to something, anything, to stop the sky from lurching in his vision.

It hurt. He couldn't breathe.

Pain flared across his shoulder as he whimpered, - "Hurts." He gasped out, when Federico approached, face pinched white as he shakily tried to stop Ezio from standing. He couldn't anyway, it hurt his body too much to even move.

"I know, I know, _padre_ will be here soon, I promise, Ezio. I'm sorry, so sorry, I _knew_ I should've warned you…" Federico liked to babble when he was scared, Ezio thought hazily as black spots danced in his vision, and he turned his face towards the sky. He saw the shadow of an eagle, magnificent, brave, it was so high, he wonders if he could ever fly like that? And if he could, how would it feel? To have the sun so close, to have the clouds, under his grasp?

"_Sarò in grado di volare ancora, grande fratello_?" he asked, that day.

His brother stared at him and smiled, mirthless. The boy, who loved to fly, closed his eyes after hearing the answer, trying his hardest not to cry.

"_Non lo so." _

* * *

><p>Italy, Florence, 1471,<p>

Aged 12,

He was curious, that's all. That was all.

What he didn't understand was, _why_?

When his father glared at him stonily and sent him to his room, not even bothering to hit him, just yelled and yelled and yelled; when his mother looked at him with sad eyes, not saying a word at all; when his brother, his brother, just sighed and shook his head, telling him that 'ignorance was bliss', when he himself _knew_ and hadn't bothered to tell him.

It angered him as well _as it frightened_ him as well, not knowing _anything_. He only saw, he didn't even say anything!

He slept fitfully that night, anger and fear overriding his senses.

His shoulder ached.

Giovanni watched quietly behind the door of Ezio's bedroom, anger draining away quickly, leaving him tired and exhausted, throat dry and itching from all the shouting; he hadn't meant to be so harsh, he _didn't_.

An accusing voice, soft yet sharp at the same time, started him out of his thoughts.

"That, was very childish of you, Giovanni. He _knows_, he watches you, you know as well as I do."

He sighed, and closed the door gently. "Maria..."

"Tell him." His wife said, cradling his face, worn and old by time and worry. "He should know by now."

"I know." He repeated, to himself mostly, rather than her.

"I will tell him. Soon."

It scared him.

* * *

><p>Italy, Florence, 1476,<p>

Aged 17,

It felt nolgastic, the feeling of wind carressing his face as he watched the view; the soft light of the moon shining above him, illuminating the rooftops, making them glitter.

He squashed the phantom ache that threatened to attack his shoulder again.

"Feels like the old days, right? Fratellino."

He didn't even bother to look back as Federico slipped quietly beside him, drinking the view as well.

"It does, doesn't it." He mused out, strecthing his fingers towards the moon, miming to grab it as his brother grinned.

"Don't be so sullen, Ezio; for all I know, your face still looks irrationaly good, though the constant scowl on your face might rui- Oof!" He deserved the elbow on his ribs, Ezio thought as he smirked at his older brother, who grinned back as if nothing happened.

"I know that, just..." He trailed off, glaring at nowhere, his mind full of thoughts of pushing Vieri off a tower, or just kicking his balls. That would be cool, so, so very cool.

"Vieri is a bastard, I know, but imagining him is no way to spend time, Ezio." Federico nudged him gently, and Ezio scoffed. "Imagining his demise and bank numbers are all I can think of, Federico." he laughed, and stopped when Federico stared at him intently, thoughtfully.

"What? What is it?" He asked nervously, he hated it whenever his brother did that, he makes an eerily good impression of _his mother_ when she was upset with him, or making him go out with dates or accompanying her to go _shopping_. For _dresses_.

"Nothing, nothing at all." Federico mumbled, and gave him a small, all-too-knowing smile. Ezio scowled, he hated that look.

"It is nothing. Look, Ezio, this," the older brother gestured widely, "This, is a good life we lead. Is it not?" Ezio smiled, and let himself be enraptured in the city's beauty once again, the children that giggle and laugh when performers show cheap magic tricks, the hustle and bustle of the people, the smell of sweet perfume from the courtesans, the songs the minstrels sing day and night. Everything. Everything was beautiful.

He sighed.

"The best," he paused as he stood up, followed by Federico, "And may it never change!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm across his brother, who in return squeezed his shoulder and said softly for only the two of them to hear.

"And may it never change us, Ezio."

* * *

><p>And when he thinks about that night before everything had gone to hell, before Federico's, his father's, Petruccio's grey, disfigured faces stare at him as he placed them carefully in the boats, he wonders sometimes.<p>

How naive he had been, how wrong they've both been.

His shoulder ached constantly.

/_ "Father?"_

_He felt scared all of a sudden, dread filling his body._

_"Federico?"_

_No one. No one. He looked around the house, the once beautiful walls he remembered since he was a child, tornburnedruineddirty-_

_He turned and grabbed the wrist of his attacker. "Lucia! What happened?"_

_The maid's eyes widened, shock and relief blooming across her face all at once._

_Prison, she said. Prison._

_He felt so small, so small and helpless._

_"Mother was..."_

_Ezio didn't want to hear it. He really didn't. NonononoIdon'tnodon'ttellme-_

_"Go to somewhere safe, I'll handle this."_

_But he had to, he had to, for the sake of his mother, his family._

_He had to fly bravely, now./_

"Ezio, you need rest, you've wounds that need stitching..." Voices, so many voices, whose was this one? Leonardo? His mind flitted in and out, his breathing was shaky and, and...

And what?

_"Let go, Ezio. **Let go**."_

But he can't. The man didn't die properly, he was still breathing, Ezio thought, he tries to stand. But he can't. His body hurts. Breathing was so hard.

/_ "I'll kill you! I'll kill you for what you have done! You hear me? I'll kill you!" He screamed, he was too late, they were dead. Ladies and gentlemen, they were dead, he thought hysterically as he pushed past people, hot tears streaming across his cheeks, they were dead. _

_Federico wouldn't tease him anymore, wouldn't race with him, wouldn't teach him stupid tricks he learned from jesters or performers; his father wouldn't smile at him when he'd done something good, wouldn't lecture him, wouldn't laugh and ruffle his hair, wouldn't call him 'son'; his younger brother wouldn't be able to collect anymore feathers, wouldn't look at him admiringly and wouldn't, couldn't laugh at his lame attempts to make a joke._

_His lungs burned from the sobs that came out from his body./_

"Hurts." He gasped out, and the hands that kept prodding him stopped, a cool hand was placed on his forehead, where it was burning.

"I know, I know it hurts." A soft voice, a woman's. Poala? His sister?

"Mother?"

"Hush, Ezio."

/ _He thought of Uberto's reaction hilarious, the man's eyes were wide as saucers, mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water, trying its hardest to breathe. _

_"You..." He stabbed repeatedly. Blood was staining his hands, his robes, he couldn't see it, all he could see was redredredred-_

_"Me." He echoed back, he didn't recognize his voice though._

_The man's eyes were dull, sad. Somehow Ezio understands. He faltered._

_"You would have done the same," Uberto gasped out, bloody froth staining his lips, "To save the ones you love." He grasped the lapels of Ezio's robes, his father's. _

_Ezio's lip curled in disgust._

_"Yes. I would. And I have!" He said hotly, glaring angrily at the man for comparing himself to him. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't._

_But deep inside his heart, the question still stays. It whispers constantly, darkly at him._

**_Was he?_** /

_"Perché proprio a me?"_

Nobody answered.

* * *

><p><em>A young eagle, with one of its wings clipped, cried out mounfully. The sunlight hurt. It missed the warmth of its nest. But it was so far.<em>

_It tries to fly, but it was scared of falling, so it stayed where it was, shivering at the cold._

_It misses the sky. It hates the ground._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: (Sweats profusely) Oh my god. Oh my god. (Nervous wreck) I totally bashed this didn't I? I totally did. I know it. I know I did. Oh god, don't flay me so Assassin Creed's fans! I... I know I know I KNOW. My Italian's atrocious and so is my FRENCH, but honestly, I am STUDYING. I SWEAR. I swear (Pitifully small voice). I... I could use some betas, or maybe, maybe a gun so I can shoot myself and get this over with.**

**1) "My god, little brother,"**

**2) "Eat your words, you big fat cheater!"**

**3) "Cheater."**

**4) "Will I be able to fly again, big brother?"**

**5) "I don't know."**

**6) "Why me?"**

**This chapter severely lacks of creativity, fluency, and most of all, it lacks ITALIAN WORDS. And..And... I fail at writing kid!Ezio. GOD, I WANT TO SHOOT MYSELF BUT I'M TOO MUCH OF A PUSSY TO DO IT. (Screams) Ahem, but anyhow, reviews and constructive critiscm are always ALWAYS welcomed. Whether bad or not. Remind me if there's anything you'd want me to change, this fic, the mistakes are all mine. For I have no beta. Btw, do any french readers know what happened in France during the... 1480s? I need to add some material here, wikipedia and text books only do so much.**

**I'm so sorry for letting you all see such a bad fanfiction. I am ashamed. Trust me on this one. Thank you for reading.** :)


End file.
